


Burn

by Saber_Wing



Series: The Ties That Bind [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Fluff, Humor, In which Max is a stressed little bean, M/M, Protective Siblings, Romance, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), and five million things to do, look at him he has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: With time running out before the siege on Adamant Fortress, Maxwell finds himself pulled in a dozen different directions. Luckily, the Inquisition is not a burden he has to carry alone.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, The Iron Bull/Trevelyan (Dragon Age)
Series: The Ties That Bind [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1254914
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Burn

Maxwell was going to burst a blood vessel if he kept this up.

Tobias Trevelyan observed carefully from his position with the new recruits, alternating between correcting their form on practice swings, and watching his brother flit about Skyhold. Their illustrious Inquisitor had already walked by six times in the past three hours, looking progressively more harried each time, and Tobias was getting genuinely concerned.

There was much work to be done before confronting the Grey Wardens at Adamant Fortress, and everyone in their inner circle was busy with battle preparations. Currently, Maxwell was standing with one of Cullen’s lieutenants. They were showing him something on a clipboard, and the furrow in his brow was deepening by the minute.

“-trebuchets. They were supposed to be arriving with the last caravan, but our runners haven’t been able to find them,” the lieutenant was saying, pointing at something on the page.

Max took the clipboard from him, skimmed the report, then scribbled something on it—presumably, his signature. “Has Commander Cullen seen this?”

“Not yet, Your Worship.”

“Get it to him at once. Send out another company and have him coordinate with Lady Nightingale. Her agents may be able to shed more light on this than they can.” There was something tight in Maxwell’s voice, the words clipped around the edges.

Tobias frowned. His brother was remarkably cool-headed in command. Made juggling tasks look easy. It wasn’t like him to be so visibly agitated. Certainly not while speaking with any of his soldiers.

The lieutenant fisted a hand over his heart, rushing off in the opposite direction as if fire were chasing his heels. Everyone was a bit on edge. A lot was resting on their success, and they were all feeling the pressure. Most preparations had already been made. Now, it was a matter of making sure all their bases were covered, and loose ends tied.

Tobias made another circuit around the recruits, correcting wherever he saw a gap in their defenses. They were green, but passionate. Not experienced enough to be deployed with their fellows in the siege. He enjoyed molding them, as one might a sword. Honing their skills, like the edge of a blade. It was hard work which required a careful hand, to be sure. One could not afford to be too harsh, _or_ too soft. Either one would ruin an otherwise promising warrior.

Max had been stopped yet again halfway across the yard. One of Leliana's agents this time. He was too far away now for Tobias to hear, but the tension in his shoulders was plain to see. He shook his head at whatever the agent said, scribbled something on a spare scrap of parchment, then sent them on their way, with a brusque wave of his hand they wasted no time obeying. Max ran his fingers through his hair as Tobias watched—another anxious tell that worried him _._ The young man had always found politics distasteful, but he was remarkably _good_ at them. One could only ever see the cracks in his mask if they knew where to look.

Tobias knew him better than just about anyone. At least, he liked to think so. The fault lines were plain for him to see, but not _just_ for him. These were obvious tells, and if the way their people tiptoed around the Inquisitor was any indication, they were taking notice.

One of his junior officers arrived to relieve Tobias, which was just as well. He needed to do something. He had nothing but respect for his brother, and his position as Inquisitor. And he was careful not to contradict him in front of their men. The war table was a different story—Max welcomed all feedback there, as well he should. After all, that was why his advisors and inner circle were there. This wasn’t a burden he would ever have to carry alone.

A fact that, for the moment, he seemed to have forgotten.

Tobias fired off a quick set of orders for the officer relieving him. Their people were well trained—they knew what was expected of them, often without being asked. He was confident his man would have things well in hand as he bid him farewell, making his way quickly across the field toward his brother.

Max was locked tightly in conversation with one of the alchemists by the stairs, audibly frustrated, even from several dozen feet away.

“What happened to the elfroot our herbalists planted in that plot six _months_ ago? They can’t have simply vanished.”

“I’m…not certain, Your Worship. Mother Giselle mentioned having them harvested for more poultices, but—”

“Then _why_ are we this low on poultices?” Max paused to take a breath, struggling for composure. When he spoke again, his voice was level. Perhaps a bit _too_ level. Quiet, and just this side of dangerous _._ “We received another shipment two days ago. _Find_ them. The healers can’t have gone through it all. I want the loss accounted for and reported by the end of the day.”

The poor alchemist couldn’t salute his Inquisitor fast enough, bowing his head so low, Tobias doubted he could see his shoes. “At once, My Lord.” He shrunk under Max's palpable ire, scurrying off up the stairs.

Another officer was approaching Max, even as he scrambled away. The requisitions lad, if Tobias remembered correctly. He winced.

The inevitable explosion ensued.

“Inquisitor—”

“ _What_?” Max spat, spinning on his heel. He shut his eyes for a moment. Took a carefully measured breath. “What is it?”

Tobias approached them before the poor boy could get another word out, making a quick mental note to send him a nice vintage later.

“I _hate_ to interject,” Tobias drawled, putting on his best ‘apologetic’ grin. “But is this something that can wait? I just need to borrow my brother for a few moments.”

“Oh.” The requisition’s officer blinked. “Certainly.”

“Splendid, thank you _ever_ so much.” Tobias grabbed Max by both shoulders, steering him away before anyone else could drop the next fresh crisis at their Inquisitor’s feet.

This was _preposterous._ Matters around Skyhold had been in rather more of an upheaval than usual for the past few days, it was true. But Max couldn’t possibly handle every petty complaint himself. That was what the chain of command was for. Where were their superiors? Why did he have advisors if every one of their people was going to run to Max for everything?

They needed to have another talk about boundaries. It was wonderful that Max made himself available to his men, but for Maker’s sake _,_ he needed to learn how to say _no_.

“What is it now _?”_ Max asked Tobias, with a huff. “Is the great hall on fire?”

Tobias blinked. “That’s…oddly specific.”

“Well, it’s the only thing that _hasn’t_ gone wrong today.” Max broke out of Toby’s grip as they cleared the last few steps, passing through the archway into the main courtyard. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Toby? If no one is dead, I really don’t care.”

Tobias glanced around, discreetly, leading Max into a secluded corner of the yard. “Does the word ‘delegation’ mean anything to you?”

“Delegate to _who?_ My advisors are as tied up as I am, you’ve been coordinating half the men left here as it is, and most of our junior officers are already deployed with the forces marching on Adamant. We don’t have people to delegate _to,_ and suddenly, none of my… _anyone,_ can seem to find their asses with _both_ hands!” Max hissed. The words exploded from his lips just a little too fast, and he threaded his fingers through his hair, face red. Eyes wild.

Tobias paused, pressing his lips together. Max was his commanding officer, it was true.

But he was also his little brother, and that seemed rather more important right now. He’d been working himself to the bone for weeks. Enough was enough.

“All right.” Tobias nodded decisively, gripping Max by both shoulders. “You’re done.”

“Wha… _Toby!_ What are you… _wait_ a minute, what the hell are you—”

Tobias bodily pushed his brother across the field and through the doors of the Herald’s Rest, sharing a smile with Scout Harding as he passed. She threw him a grimace and a quick salute that told him everything he needed to know about how noticeable Max’s pending nervous breakdown was.

He zeroed in on his target along the wall and stopped dead, depositing Max in front of him.

“Iron Bull, my good man!” Tobias greeted, with a lopsided grin. “Are you busy _?”_

“Nah, I got time.” His eye roamed over both Trevelyans, resting on Max just a beat or two longer. “What’s goin’ on, Boss?”

“Take him.” Tobias cut off whatever angry tirade Max had presumably been ready to launch himself into, shoving his brother forward. “Go have fun, I don’t care how. Let off some steam. Do whatever it is you do behind closed doors. _Please_ don’t tell me, find a dark corner for all I care. Just get him out of here if you’d be so kind.”

“We have a _w_ _ar table_ meeting—”

“No, _I_ have a war table meeting.” Tobias snatched away the clipboard Max was clutching in one arm. “I’ll take that, _thank_ you.”

“Did…” Max sputtered, dropping his arms in bewilderment. “Did you just _order_ my lover to ravage me while you do all the work?”

“No, I _brought_ you to your lover, and told him to use his own discretion. I will not now, nor will I ever be, asking for details of your ravaging _,_ or recommending anything similar.”

Max seemed at a loss. Tobias could see the battle taking place, the inner struggle. His hair was the slightest bit disheveled, his eyes dark. He was clearly _exhausted_. Couldn’t have been sleeping more than a few hours a night. He could see his apprehension. His… _relief_.

“I…” Max rubbed a hand over his face. His shoulders slumped, his voice, small. “Are you _sure?”_

“Dear heart.” Tobias softened. He held his brother by both arms. “You are running yourself ragged. The important decisions are made. Thedas will not burn if you take one night to recuperate. This meeting is barely more than a formality. The most thrilling thing happening tonight will be Cullen and Josie arguing over the importance of battlefield etiquette.”

Max snickered, though his brow furrowed. “But, Leliana—"

“Will not object.” Tobias squared his jaw. He’d see to that. He didn’t think anyone would _anyhow._ He’d noticed more than one raised eyebrow, and concerned, downturned lip thrown Max's way from every member of the war council, of late.

“And Cassandra—"

“Is a warrior who has been on far more fields of battle than either of us.”

The Iron Bull chose that moment to interject himself into the conversation, leaning heavily on his hand. “He's right, Boss. Gotta know when to slow down. If Corypheus doesn’t kill you, burnout will.”

Max was wavering. He worried his lip between his teeth. “You’re _sure_ you can handle it?”

Tobias bristled. “Yes _,_ dear. I’m quite sure I can handle a roomful of bickering people who love each other and can’t agree on anything.”

“ _That's_ fair.” Max snorted, launching himself into a vaguely hysterical peel of giggles. “Why am I the Inquisitor? You’re the one who survived me and Will through adolescence.”

“Go.” Tobias cupped Max's cheek. Shook it a bit. “You’ve earned a quiet evening and a good night’s sleep, for heaven’s sake.”

“If you’re sure.” Max rubbed his face with both hands, heaving a sigh. He looked wrung-out. Drained. “Maker, I’m _tired_. I need a seventeen-hour nap _.”_

Tobias gave him another shove toward Bull. “You have at least the next twelve to do precisely that.”

“Well.” Max exchanged a heated glance with his lover. “Maybe not _just_ that.”

Tobias grimaced, thrusting his palm in front of his face. “Gah, what did I say about—"

Max snorted, smirking behind his hand. “But you make it so _easy.”_

Tobias stared back unblinking, unamused.

“All right, all right.” Max let Bull take his hand and tug him down into the chair next to him. He pouted. “You two always gang _up_ on me. It’s not fair.”

Tobias ruffled his hair, suppressing a smile when Max shoved him away, mock-chagrined. He slapped Bull's shoulder amiably, pointing sternly at his brother as he backed away from them. “I don’t want to see you before tomorrow morning.”

Max scoffed. “All right, _mother.”_

“Oh, don’t worry.” The Iron Bull pulled on Max's arm again, grabbing him around the waist and depositing him on his lap in one smooth, fluid motion. Tobias swore, he would never understand how such a large man could move so gracefully. It defied _logic._ “You won’t.”

Tobias rolled his eyes. “Or hear you. _Please.”_

Max swung a leg over Bull's lap, turning in his arms and glancing over his shoulder with a lopsided grin. “No promises.”

Max was _radiant_ when he was with him. Joyful, in a way he seldom could be. The weight of all Thedas thrust upon his shoulders.

Tobias helped him carry that burden, as best he could. He was Max's sword, and his shield.

Bull was his safe harbor. His port in the storm.

Neither of them seemed to pay their surroundings any mind as Tobias paused on his way out the door. They had eyes only for each other. Max was straddling his lap now, both arms threaded around his neck. He smiled at something Bull said, leaned down to kiss him.

Even the most skeptical among them couldn’t miss the adoration in Bull's eye.

Tobias knew without question he’d made the right decision. Couldn’t regret it, even as he left them behind in the tavern, glancing down at the itinerary on the stolen clipboard in his hand.

He ambled up the stairs towards the war room with a secret smile. The others wouldn’t begrudge their Inquisitor this, but hell and damnation, it wouldn’t matter if they did.

Fade take _all_ of them, he’d thrust them into the flames if it gave Max one moment like this.

**Author's Note:**

> All right, listen, hear me out xD. When I started this fic, I WAS projecting a bit. I'm a pharmacy technician --the senior technician at my location, and I have six things I'm doing at once at all times, and six more on the back burner. And, we've been particularly short, on top of having to register hundreds of people daily for the coronavirus vaccine, and I was DONE. There are days when I think if I hear my name one more time, or have to put out one more fire, I might actually snap. 
> 
> So, that's what this was born of. I brought that very harried, done with everything energy to MAX'S leadership position. But, like Max, we've all got people in our corner to help us handle our workload, and hardships in life <3.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always: I'm so glad you're here <3
> 
> \- Saber


End file.
